Monday, 16 December 2013

I'm having a Murray moment...

My life has a superb cast, but I cannot figure out the plot.

Finally, I have watched the complete 2 seasons of Flight of the Conchords. Take it for granted I’m a bit slow on catching up with modern media. Needless to say, I loved every daft moment of it.  I especially liked Murray. 

The thought often occurred, could I put up with such a man in real life. All his humour and daftness would be lost in the abyss of his self assurance. Bless his brown suits. Murray brought a little joy to media. I particularly liked the scenes between my beloved Murray and the New Zealand Prime Minister, Brian. We are introduced to Brian, sound asleep, while sitting in Murray’s office, while Murray takes photos of his idolized leader. Poor Brian was jet lagged from his trip to the US and woke in a startle asking “Is it yesterday?” Murray dutifully answers “No. It’s today.” 

That conversation kind of sums up my life. Well currently at least. I really am not sure what day of the week it is or what week it actually is. I’m pretty sure we are approaching some major holiday or at worst it’s Armageddon. The world has gone mad. Supermarket trolleys bend under the weight of excess food and drink, rolls of luxury wrapping paper threaten the survival of forests and the rise in sales of woolly jumpers hits an all time high. Do people not know what a mild winter means? It’s all fantastic and festive in its own right, well what else are we supposed to do with the arse-end of the year?

Currently on planet Alpaca, it’s a rush from one craft fair to the next, to meeting with dear friends whom ‘….haven’t seen you in ageeeessss!’ back to Christmas Craft Pop-Up Shop to (sure) pop down for one. I’m rattled, excited, exhausted, giddy & completely confused. 
Is it yesterday? No. I think it’s tomorrow! Oh balls! 

Sunday, 8 September 2013

Must Love Lists

As human beings, we have a natural compulsion to fill empty spaces.

I have proven on an occasion that I am not the most interesting person. At least, not while being flushed with alcohol. I make lists. Lots of lists. I have notebooks, filled with lists. I view it as an art piece in progress, the actual making of the list, documenting and presentation of the final collection. Mind, there is no finality in list making. To reach for real sympathy, I will admit to reading back over my notebooks while sitting in bed with a cup of tea. It’s a safer environment as a night out usually leads to starting the following day with deleting messages sent the night before, grasping to the idea this will somehow, unsend them. Being daft after a few glasses is something I excel at. I’m the fun one out. That’s why list making is good…it tends to align and keep focus on my wandering mind.

My favourite notebooks are Paperblanks. It was the good nature of an ex boyfriend who bought my first piece. A little book bound in Arabian Mosaic Tiling artwork. Each book is part of a collection, depicting art from all over the world and from various eras. There is also a little pocket in the back where one can keep cinema tickets, phone numbers scribbled on used cinema tickets, photos of those scribbling their numbers, thus, leading to the idea one can recreate a perfect image of time. Once I finish my listing and the book is full,  I have forgotten what it was I was trying to hold onto and a new book is bought. So the cycle begins.

Paperblanks as a business interest me as much as the notebooks. They excel at high standards, create beautiful, practical and useful books that are in essence, keepsakes, in their own right. I manage to keep mine even after the tedious enumerations. Paperblanks will always be on my Christmas lists. I love list making and with the art of Paperblanks, my drivel is well and truly under the blanket of obscure art.

Sunday, 18 August 2013


The Law of Raspberry Jam:
the wider any culture is spread, the thinner it gets.

Alvin Toffler

During an afternoon of work, knitting and tea drinking, I was passing the time listening to one of my favourite radio programmes. There was a slot about Jam. Soft, sweet, sticky Jam loved and loathed the world over. It tastes great but gets everywhere. If your jammied toast falls to the ground, be sure, it will fall Jam side down. If it drips onto your top or clean white shirt, Jam will make its mark. Not to mention, it will also rot your teeth! For all its badness, Jam is delicious, versatile and practical. It’s a form of preservation of fruits and vegetables, thus allowing you to enjoy strawberries in winter, blackberries in Spring and anything you like in Summer. I went through a teenage phase of hating the stuff. Like the knitting, I gave up a lot during the wasted years. I suppose, it’s all about trying new things until you reach the stage of adulthood when you know which things you like and which you like to keep. It was the taste of a locally made rhubarb & vanilla jam, that woke up my taste buds and helped me understand all. I almost felt a pop inside. I thus went on a nationwide jam tasting trail in conjuntion with a scone tasting trail, while on my usual travels. My girth didn’t thank my but my taste buds, gladly, shook my hands.

This radio programme however, also covering jams in the more lateral sense. The presenter met with Music Jam sessions, Maths Jams where mathemiticans and people with more brain cells than the average, work out difficult conundrums. Like countdown in the pub. There were probably even Jam Jam Sessions where jam makers, eaters and general nutters meet to jam…..I even helped create a Knitting Jam Circle who meet in a café twice weekly and knit while eating jam on scones!

I remember Mum’s jam making at home. Topping and tailing the gooseberries, torn alive while out blackberry picking, falling into thorny dikes in order to grab the allusive berry which turned out to be a warm bed for a fat maggot.. collecting fallen apples and pears from the orchards….and shaking the trees to knock off the plums only to find them already half eaten by birds. 

Jam is wonderful, lovely on everything and comforting to the nose. But as always, I find perspective ..... ta dah!

Sunday, 28 July 2013

Choose Your Own Adventure...if only!

The farther you go...the harder it is to return. The world has many edges and it's easy to fall off.
Weetabix! Ah the memories. Not just a dry, wheaty biscuit used in childhood cooking experiments but also delicious with hot milk. There was a time when one would collect 8 tokens from a Weetabix box, send them off with an application form to postal heaven and wait for it, you would receive a free gift! For a child (of the country), this was magic. You knew what you sent for but the excitement of receiving that brown, sealed parcel, ripping it open to reveal ..... surprise! Apart from the odd letter from my closet friend who lived up the road and apparently enjoyed writing, life at the other side of the post-box was pretty hopeless. That was, unless you sent away for freebies!

Besides colouring pencils, club memberships and Flash Gordon collector cards, the lads and myself collected for a shelf full of ‘Choose Your Own Adventure’ books with titles such as ‘The Horror of High Ridge’ and ‘Mountain Survival’.
By definition, Choose Your Own Adventure books “.… are written in the second person. The protagonist—that is, the reader—takes on a role relevant to the adventure; for example, private investigator, mountain climber, race car driver, doctor or spy….
….The stories are formatted so that, after a couple of pages of reading, the protagonist faces two or three options, each of which leads to more options, and then to one of many endings….”

Life changed temporarily, while our fates lay in the hands of obscure questions and page numbers. Once your decision was made, your course was set and there was no going back. You turned to page 52 eagerly awaiting the outcome. Aaaggghh! You’re dead. The comic book graphics of a blood spattered, screaming face of your character was enough to acquaint you with your fate.

If only life could be like a ‘choose your own adventure’ book. Well, in a way it is, the only difference is you can’t jump to a page, half open, squinting a look inside, seeking some indication the ending isn’t all bad. No, unfortunately, decisions made in the real life are made blindly. Even when you think, “this is a sure thing”, how do you really know?

If you choose to dine on a slice or Rye Bread, undressed salad, and a glass of water, turn to page 25.
Do you order a Milano, Florentine Pizza, side order of fries (for one) and pick up a bottle of Shiraz on the way home, turn to page 49

Comic book graphics or not….I know that outcome. That’s life. The unmarked parcels flooding in the door of fate are full of surprises. When one story ends, another starts. At least with knitting, I know the ..….Aaaggghh!

Sunday, 23 June 2013

The Prince

"What's the good in living if you don't try a few things?"

Charles M. Schulz

Maybe it’s the copious cups of tea I have already consumed but I'm thinking, men who cut their own shapes, send me in a flurry. Jack White for one. I always thought of him as Johnny Depp’s less good-looking brother. Now I do dig Johnny’s talents beyond the obscene good looks but he probably doesn’t really exist. Ooohh, I feel better already. I like the way ‘rock star celebrities’ can make the outmoded look so nippy. Like when during an interview, Johnny crossing his legs, revealed his socked toes sticking out atop his torn boots. Ah bless! Not to forget Jack’s unmistakable mix of second skin, two-tone trousers or 50’s style Texan oil baron suits topped with a mass of mangled black hair. It takes all sorts!

So these, two angels of ethos have given me some confidence in stepping into the unknown. Taking a leap of faith. Climbing the tree and looking out from the top.

I like men’s clothing. Not so much wearing them but browsing them while out shopping. It’s interesting to see how far you can push men’s style without actively infringing on one’s integrity. While growing up through the grunge years of the 90’s, I would be known to break into my Dad’s wardrobe taking stripey tops and torn thermals on music festival outings. The craic was good, the mud was sticky and I looked a mess! Thankfully, my style has somewhat improved, however, I still harp after creating the ‘perfect’ men’s wardrobe. Meanwhile, Sibling London are doing they damn best at taking Men’s Knitwear to extreme and beautiful heights. 

Saturday, 15 June 2013

Oblique Strategies anyone?

Nobody ever figures out what life is all about, and it doesn't matter. Explore the world. Nearly everything is really interesting if you go into it deeply enough.

Radio rocks! For us radiophiles at least, this little invention has not been fossilized just yet. I find nothing more satisfying than spending a good working day, at the knitting with a large mug of tea and some Radio play in the background. Just this week, I learned about the allusive Oblique Strategy Cards. Now, I put it down to my birth era….I had never heard of Oblique Strategy Cards before until I fell upon a great presentation, on Radio 4 by Simon Armitage (whose voice would soothe you to sleep), discussing the origin and validity of these curiosities. The peculiar cards apparently have shaped how music was made. They helped in the creation of great poems. They were partly responsible for the birth of earnest literary characters. What are they? I scrambled to Google seeking the answers.

“Oblique Strategies (subtitled Over One Hundred Worthwhile Dilemmas) is a deck of 7 by 9 centimetres (2.8 in × 3.5 in) printed cards in a black container box, created by Brian Eno and Peter Schmidt  and first published in 1975. Each card offers an aphorism intended to help artists (particularly musicians) break creative blocks  by encouraging lateral thinking.”

I look sympathetically at my well worn ‘yes, no’ maybe’ die and check out where I can buy this deck. It all sounds so underground. Even the box looks sexy. There are limited editions, special artwork, gimme, gimme, gimme….it’s like Needful Things.

To be continued....


Not sure this is what Eno/ Schmidt were hoping for when developing their concept. Never mind, it was the cards at play. 

Sunday, 9 June 2013 if?

Laugh all you want and cry all you want and whistle at pretty men in the street and to hell with anybody who thinks you're a damned fool!
How many knitters would admit to spending the best part of their lives, struggling through a complex patterned, over-sized sweater for the ‘One I loved’ that another may well be wearing now? It is literally, wearing your heart on your sleeve. Don’t worry. We have all drank too deep at the foundation of emotional depth and despair and lived through the hangover. God knows, my knits may be well worn around the block.  Speaking of hangovers, the sun is shining bright in Ireland, so officially it’s okay to drink during the day. All is well with the world again. Brace yourselfs; these mutterings are a crude attempt at correlating early evening boozing for something meaningful.

I have fallen in love...again. Okay, he is a bit older, a bit of an 80’s icon, a mecca for women of the literary world and he is fictional. Rupert Campbell-Black, literally fell out of my sisters book shelf (upper wardrobe space, hopelessly overfilled with bags, rubbish and some old books), onto my head. I had been watching Jilly Cooper on the Saturday Night Show with Brendan and thought, she seemed a bit of fun. And god knows, I am in need of a bit of fun. As usual, I am a good two decades behind everyone else. I remember two of the elders squealing about Riders/ Raiders/ Ropey Lovers or whatever it was called back then. I thought it looked all a bit grown up and stuffy, like reading Naomi Wolf’s ‘Vagina’: a hopeful, adult approach to my womanhood and spiritual view on my nether regions. In reality, it turns out to be a good head romp in the summer shade. I am ever hopeful.

It comes to light, I had something in common with those girls, I grew up, with after all and they never much appreciated my knits either. Sorry, excuse me, but its time for a glass of wine and some, erm, reading.

Sunday, 19 May 2013

That Steve Jobs Speech!

“…you can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something — your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life.”

-Steve Jobs, Standford University Speech

While sitting in a carpark, on a rainy Sunday morning, I contemplate my future. Its dark, cold, the rain is hitting hard. I’m waiting for my latest Fair outlet to open. For an hour, I drove around, lost, before finally finding the place. I start on my Spar sandwich I had bought, earlier, for lunch. I’m an anxious eater.

“You are crazy. What are you doing here? Why are you doing this to yourself? You are crazy. Crazy, you hear!”

My demons are working their magic as the pasty, ‘dip dyed’ brown bread lodges itself in my throat. I look out at the rain.  While flicking through some radio stations, I here that familiar voice of entrepreneurial master, speak from the grave. It’s Steve Jobs. He is giving one of his famous speeches citing why you have to be crazy to try to run after your dreams and do what you love doing. No sane person would consider it never mind staying the distance. It’s true. Working for yourself is a huge risk. I have forgotten what weekends are. I can’t differentiate between evening and day.  My home looks like a mini warehouse. So why do I love it all so much?

“I’m crazy, I’m crazy… and ... it’s wonderful!”

I toss the half eaten sandwich onto the back seat. A lone passengered car pulls up beside me. It’s time to start unpacking.
"Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish"
Steve Jobs

Sunday, 5 May 2013

What not to wear

It is never too late to be wise.

It's Summer…believe it or not. It is Summer. Reality hurts like hell. Especially when you look at the calendar,  you look out the window, back at the calendar, the window….I remain optimistic. So what to wear during what technically is summer?

The usual attire of the over zealous Irish person; flip-flops in the rain, white linen trousers with mud spatters, skinny strapped tops in gale force winds. This is where summer knitting takes precedence. I don’t buy into knitted/ crocheted bikinis nor do I make them. I have heard the horror stories of the ill advised. You were hoping to do a take on Halle Berry emerging out of the water like a Sea Goddess, but what you got was the old nag at the garden party in Bridget Jones Diary. When yarn gets wet, it gets heavy. A far more stylish option would be to cover up! Now, I’m not grey yet and I don’t mean wearing a tartan blanket over your legs while lying on the beach. No, I mean, soft, delicate cardis, boleros, even Beanies. That’s a hat, by the way. Summer = festivals, surf, cycling and general outdoor activity. What looks cuter than a strappy top worn with a woolly hat. Or a slippy dress under a Kate Middelton style ‘little fluffy cardi’. Sorry girls, but my advice, keep your knitting out of the water. 

Crocheted Summer Hat

Sunday, 17 March 2013

Ageless Body, Timeless Mind

“We are always the same age inside”

Gertrude Stein

I turned 30-something-ish or other this year. I went to bed one age and woke up another….as if the magic age fairies came during the night taking my younger self and replacing it with a much more mature and wiser being. Well, for sure, they left the same disgruntled self with a few more laughter lines and greys that all the hair colourants in Tesco aren’t going to cover. What is in a hair colour anway?

Alpaca, like humans, grow hair rather than fur or fleece. Just like human’s, alpacas also suffer the same plights of ageing and beauty. Some are born with beautiful locks of auburn, black or blonde hair, perfect features and with an elegant gait. Others are just plain ‘ugly/cute’. As part of this project, I have been hanging out with alpaca farmers, visiting alpaca shows and generally, have been wearing my wellies a lot more. Alpaca ‘fleece’ varies in softness and quality and has more than 22 natural shades. Last year, while helping on a farm during the shearing season, I had the enviable job of sorting through the freshly shorn hair. I prefer not to wear gloves during this process, it is the best to get a good feel for the various ‘fleece’. Despite looking like Worzel Gummage at the end of each working day, I loved the experience. There is nothing quite like experiencing a new beginning. The alpaca get to grow, fresh, new hair and I get a whole bunch of fleece ready for milling. Even a ball of yarn has a circle of life. A story. 

Sunday, 3 March 2013

The Book of Tea

" The Irish are still the biggest tea drinkers in the world given the size of the country. It's such a treat to sit down to a pot of tea" 

Pauline McGlynn 
Afternoon Tea at the Park 
A couple of days ago, I had a very important appointment …. I had planned to meet a couple of friends for Afternoon Tea: The Park Hotel at 3pm sharp. There was not a scrap of floral material worn between us nor were were donned in tea dresses with little angora boleros. For goodness sake, its 2013. Nonetheless, it was lovely. We sat on armchairs and a couch at a table laid with a crisp, white table-cloth. Our table was filled with sandwiches, confections, tea and uh…..some Pinto Grigio, which is tradition in Irish High Teas. And that’s a fact!

We talked about shopping, kids, work, people at work, “Sweet potato? What do you do with them?”, going out again but ‘and not like the last time’, before finally saying our farewells.

On returning home, I felt I needed tea. A lovely pot of freshly made tea with a couple of the complimentary cookies left for us by the hotel. Tea still remains my favourite beverage of all. Its timeless, comforting, induces socializing and tastes great. So what better than to keep that delicious pot of tea hot and steamy…ta dah!

Sunday, 24 February 2013

Tears of a Clown

“I decided it is better to scream. Silence is the real crime against humanity.”

Yesterday, I cried. I wept solidly for 15 minutes while sitting at my laptop trying to work out how to make a website. I needed a break. After a quick cup of Chamomile tea and a square of chocolate, I went back to the laptop, stared at what was in front of me and started crying again. At about 8.30pm I finally gave in. After sending an angry email to my ‘website consultant’, I retired to my bed with knitting in hand.

“If I can’t make sense of this website, I will make a scarf!”

Well, I made a bit of scarf, allowing myself to drop off in dim light, the bed strewn with yarn, needles and a couple of books in mid read. I slept soundly, undisturbed.

This morning I woke up and felt….better! A lot better! I spent the evening before beating myself up for not always succeeding, for failing to get a date, for getting a blow out on a very bald car tyre the day before. Somehow, allowing the misery to take-over purged the upset within and cleared the air.

This Sunday morning is a new day and I feel somewhat invigorated. Consenting to the mild spat of depression, was accepting myself for all my failings, as natural as they are. The life of a singleton (in rural Ireland) can be a thorny road. Starting a business up as a sole trader, during a recession is rocky road. Looking out at another day can be …… inspiring! 

Sunday, 10 February 2013

Flannery, Nellie & Agatha

I saw this and couldn’t resist sharing with all of you in the Sisterhood of bookworms and bloggers, freestylers and freelancers, readers, writers, storytellers and of course, for all you knitting novices and know-how’s.

“You should date a girl who reads.
Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes, who has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag. She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she has found the book she wants. You see that weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a secondhand bookshop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow and worn.
She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas, for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry and in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who read understand that all things must come to end, but that you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.
....writes, reads & knits!

Or better yet, date a girl who writes.”
Rosemarie Urquico

Sunday, 3 February 2013

Beginnings, Inbetweens & History

Begin at the beginning," the King said, very gravely, "and go on till you come to the end: then stop.
Many moons ago, I took up knitting. I didn’t put it down until I reached my teens. My teenage years were a great time of growth and creative freedom. A place, where I discovered Dave Fanning’s music radio show, boys, teenage disco’s, the challenge of trying to get into over-age disco’s and getting drunk on a single bottle of Ritz. Knitting took a back seat as I started to explore, reach out and set down new boundaries. Ah….the wasted years! Understandably, growth and renewal does create a lot of waste. Fortunately, I returned, with my tail between my legs, head hanging with needles in hand. 
Thankfully, knitting had moved on since I wiled away an evening dreaming of Eddie Vedder, while facing a spotty, skinny bloke named Jim. Knitting had become useful! Memories of the 80’s were of oversized, asymmetrical, hairy mohair jumpers which should have come with a health warning, as you gasped your last breath just trying the damn thing on. Worse still: the awful “Auntie’s” Aran sweater. I have huge grá for Aran sweaters, Aran Stitches and hell, the Islands are pretty good too. My aunt, is a talented knitter. However, she was prone to stark tradition when making Aran sweaters, using the greased, ‘wire wool’ effect yarn. The condemned attire touched the nerve endings of every unfortunate Irish child who had a relative who knitted, which covers every Irish child growing up pre-mid-1990’s. The sweaters were scratchy, tight around the neck and it was difficult to move within one.
Getting back to point, knitting has moved on for the best. Not only have yarns maintained their practicality, even seasonality, they are also beautiful.

What to do with all of this beauty that nature (and hand dyers) have endowed us with…. In the words of Vogue Knitting: Take Risks…Love Knitting!

Sunday, 27 January 2013

The Angel of Ruin

“Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened.”

I like eating while standing up. Sometimes. 

On a recent visit home to Fairy Lawn, I spent a lovely few moments, eating a freshly made toastie while nonchantly staring out the back window. Outside, The Hens stood, looking back at me, looking at them. They could only imagine how good that hot, cheesy sandwich tasted and I bet they were. Not only do I consider myself to be a dab hand at making a decent scone, I also have a knack at fashioning a rather tasty toasted sandwich.

A girl I knew, when growing up, rather rudely asked, if I were a horse in a previous life. She misunderstood the comfort you can get from eating while standing up. I find it’s a time when one can reflect. The food only takes second place to the ramblings in your head, but strangely manages to put perspective on those thoughts.

When you start on anything new, a business, a relationship, a project, you inevitably always reach crossroads. A place where questions need to be asked and decisions need to be made. It can be difficult. A few quiet moments spent taking stock of your options is necessary and will, ultimately, lead you to make a decision, which, you can only hope, will have a beneficial outcome. For all of its excellence, the Internet has made patience an endangered virtue. Outcomes, may not appear to be in your favour initially, but the world has a very strange way of righting wrongs…. eventually.

So, my humble sandwich, in all its simplicity, has in a way, cleared my vision. All the while, The Hens have moved onto greener pastures, namely the lawn.

As an alternative to eating your way through anxiety, I suggest poring over this prime article, written by Stitchlinks founder, Betsan Corkhill, who is a trained physiotherapist. She gives an account of the first world’s conference on ‘Therapeutic Knitting, which attracted international clinicians, academics and patient representatives from specialties including pain, mental health, dementia and post-traumatic stress, exploring the positive changes knitting can make.’ StitchLinks

Sunday, 20 January 2013

The One???

“The eyes are one of the most powerful tools a woman can have. With one look, she can relay the most intimate message. After the connection is made, words cease to exist. ”

“When you look into her eyes, you can see into her soul”, so I was told, indirectly, by Drew Barrymore when praising the merits of her good friend Cameron Diaz. Oh dear, Hollywood! However, while on a recent visit to my local knit group (we meet weekly, in a local pub!), I had an impromptu intervention with a guy who decided to join in with the knitting flock. Using his connection with one of the girls and his solar plexus, he seated himself, neatly, at our table. My well-meaning friend whispered in my ear, “He’s booky. He’s intelligent!’ 

Two hours later, with the help of a creamy Guinness, I agreed to stay for one drink. Unplanned dating can be fun. However, as the drink flowed, so did the talk. A cup of tea may help loosen your tongue but nothing gets the ‘cupla focal’ out as good a couple of pints of the black stuff

“Your eyes….your eyes…they are”
“But they change. You look happy, then sad, then angry…you can’t hide your feelings with those eyes”, he jeered.

My eyes aren’t so much windows to my soul but more patio doors letting all and sundry open them and walk inside. I feel like an open book. I’m not. I’m an Aquarian!

It turned out he wasn’t booky but comic-booky although he did admit to owning an unread copy of 50 Shades….eeekk!
The thoughts in my head are telling me its time to leave.
“There…you look happy again!”

I recede into my mind, obsessing about procedures on dealing with my handicap. I could wear sunglasses, all the time, like Anna Wintour. Or a very long, thick fringe. Mmmm …. what about some light netting, worn over my face. I’m sure that was on last years Autumn/Winter Sibling collection. On returning home, I felt a bit giddy. Feeling like a student again, in true post pub style, I browsed the net and found these. Ta Dah!
They will at least create a distraction!

Sunday, 13 January 2013

I love you, Bilbo Baggins!

“I am looking for someone to share in an adventure that I am arranging, and it's very difficult to find anyone.' 
I should think so — in these parts! We are plain quiet folk and have no use for adventures. Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things! Make you late for dinner!” 

This week, I finally got to see The Hobbit. I’m a bit of a Middle Earth fan, not hardcore, but I enjoyed the books a few years back and was very excited at the announcement of the first of the Rings Trilogy.

During and after watching the The Hobbit, I felt I was falling in love with Bilbo as played impeccably by Martin Freeman. Truth be told, I have always had a thing for Mr. Freeman, ever since we were introduced to him in The Office. I wanted to date the hapless Tim and now I want to marry Bilbo. He is perfect at this stage of my life:
·      He likes food, cooking & eating. He has a full pantry.
·      He has a nice home in the country.
·      He is adventurous.
·      He is single.
·      He likes books.

The Shire is so familiar to me coming from farming background myself. I see a field of Alpacas keeping company close by while I wile away the sunny days, knitting, reading and engaging in a bit of cleaning, I suppose. Such a great place to start a family of our own. So what to make for our little baby Baggins?.....

.... Perfect!
Okay, so Bilbo is a little shorter and little hairier than I would have hoped but I’m open-minded. He has taken a liking to walking around barefoot but then again, so do I, while at home at least.  There is that problem with that blasted Ring though, giving my Bilbo the ability to disappear, at will, as he places the Ring on his finger.

“I think it’s your turn to do the washing-up.”


I remind Bil, it’s his turn to give Baby a night feed, only to be faced by a warm empty space in the bed. And what with his friends? A very tall man in a pointy hat shows up at the door asking if Bilbo is in and that’s it…..I won’t see him until poor Baby is celebrating his 18th birthday!

It brings me back to a few years ago when I had a massive crush on Strider from The Rings Trilogy. My darling Strider, you would go off and marry that Elven  harlot. Okay, she had unnatural beauty, spoke poetically and was a dab hand at horseriding, but still!

Oh January, I think it’s time to return to the dating sites.
“Desperately seeking a short, hairy man who likes adventures and doesn’t wear Rings!”